The Sound of Silence
by originalallisaacs
Summary: AU/AH - Being a graffiti artist is a tough job all on its own, but getting jumped and nearly arrested by off-duty Officer Hale isn't how Solitaire - or Stiles, as his family calls him - expected to spend his Saturday out of school.


I asked for a prompt on Tumblr and an anon gave me: _Cop!Derek, Graffiti artist!Stiles_

**AN: **The title is from the Simon and Garfunkel song with the same title. I chose that because there is a line that goes: "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls." Also, definitions for the graffiti terms are at the bottom!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Teen Wolf or the characters.

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With a graceful flick of his wrist, Solitaire tossed the paint covered rag behind him and stared at the ghost of his former burner. After hours of buffing the old image, he was finally starting to make some leeway, finding the gray of the brick wall underneath the copious amount of black paint. He didn't usually like to buff his artwork, mainly because it felt like failure, but he'd rather love his art than hate it. So, as the fourth hour of his cleaning commenced, he was already pretty annoyed with the way the day had gone.

"First, I mess up my damn piece," he murmured, shaking his head to toss the sweat from his skin. "Second, I run out of black _just_ as I realize how to fix it. Third, buffing takes for-_fuck_-ever and I get the stupid black paint all over myself. Finally, I have to start over and I've managed to get the _stupid fucking black_ all over my face. This is great – just great."

The empty cannon of lay by his foot and he kicked it, sending the can flying over to the corner of the wall where it toppled into the street and out of seclusion.

"Fuck!" Solitaire whispered harshly, practically tripping over himself to get the cannon before it was noticed. "Shit, damn you gangly teenage legs!"

He hit the ground hard on his knees and reached for the can, his sweaty fingers making it flip flop in the air until the cannon finally settled in his embrace.

"Good, jeez, that was the most difficult thing I have ever – "

"Hey, you! Stop!"

Solitaire looked up and saw a man rushing towards him, the hood of his gray sweatshirt blocking his face from being recognized. Without a moment's hesitation, Solitaire reared off of the ground and sprinted as quickly as he could to his duffel, tossing the empty cannon inside and grasping the handles. He shoved the pack over his shoulder and was just about to reach for his cell phone when the hooded body slammed into his and flipped him over.

"Ow, shit!" Solitaire yelled, reacting to the small pebbles and pieces of pavement that were now embedded in his skin. "Get the fuck off of me!"

With flailing arms, he desperately tried to push away from the man, but to no avail. He wasn't nearly as strong as this guy was, and for two heart stopping seconds, Solitaire was almost certain he was about to be mugged – or worse – murdered.

"I don't have any money!" he said quickly, his tone calm and reassuring. "All I have are my paints, man. You can take them, just – _god_ – don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," the voice said from inside of the hood. One hand was holding Solitaire's hands against the small of his back as his face was shoved harder into the pavement. "But you are under arrest."

Alarms suddenly rang in Solitaire's head and he struggled involuntarily, angering the man who was holding him down.

"Stop struggling! Just comply! You're under arrest for defacing public property. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?"

He understood his rights, but he also understood that this guy – cop – had just pummeled him into the ground without warning him first.

"I've got it, but you should probably know something."

The body holding his stilled and Solitaire grinned, feeling a new split lip open on his mouth.

"What's that?" the voice, deep in timbre, practically growled.

"You were supposed to announce who you were before you _jumped me_! Now, unless you want me to sue your ass for assaulting me without properly _announcing_ yourself, then I would get the fuck off of me."

A few moments passed before Solitaire felt his arms go free, a rushing of blood filling the place where the cop's hands had held him. He flipped back onto his back and then sat up slowly, paying close attention to the way all of his body was aching and various areas were dripping blood.

"I'm sorry," the cop said, his hood still in place.

Solitaire sighed, shrugging. "It's no big deal. You're not arresting me…so…"

Growling in frustration, the cop ripped the hood off of his head and looked at Solitaire, making his pulse jump in his throat. Hazel eyes blazed at his through thick black lashes and a fallen tendril of equally black hair. It was obvious that this officer was off duty and probably out for a jog, and Solitaire almost couldn't shake himself out of the silent shock he'd fallen into.

"I would be arresting you if I hadn't fucked up and almost broken my own damn laws."

Solitaire felt a snort slip out of him and he quickly pushed further away from the angry cop. "Sorry, that's – uhh – that's not funny. My bad."

The cop sighed and dropped his head into his hands, letting out an angry sigh. Suddenly, his piercing eyes hit Solitaire again and he stared back, his shoulders rising with the tension.

"What?" Solitaire asked, looking around nervously. "You're like – you're not gonna' hit me, are you?"

The cop rolled his eyes and then struck out his hand, holding it with his palm open to offer a handshake. "I'm Derek. Officer Hale, actually, but you can call me Derek."

Solitaire glanced at the hand he offered and wrapped his own slim fingers around Derek's, closing his hand and shaking twice. "I'm – uhh – well…"

"What's your tag name?" Derek asked, eyeing the artwork that surrounded them in their seclusion. "I assume you have one."

Solitaire was momentarily perplexed – no one had ever asked him about his tag name before.

"They call me Solitaire," he murmured, shrugging. "I used to play it with my mom so…it stuck."

Solitaire would never tell Derek Hale that his real name was Stiles. He would never tell Derek that the real reason he chose the tag name Solitaire was because it meant lonely in French, and that was the language his mother had been teaching him when she died. He'd never tell Derek that his mother had been a famous artist and that she'd passed her talent down to her own child – her only son.

Derek sighed and pursed his lips, staring at the ghost of Stiles' painting that sat just before them on the brick wall. "You didn't like it?" he asked.

Stiles looked at the ghost and shrugged, his face morphing into a frown as he kicked at the pebbles by his feet. "It didn't feel right."

Both men sat silently as Derek gazed at the artwork he knew to be Solitaire's and Stiles watched him the entire time, eerily entranced by the older man's presence.

"You wanna grab a burger?" Stiles' blurted, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Derek raised an eyebrow and the corner of his lips quirked.

"You buying?"

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**Ghost** – the mark left after paint or ink has been unsuccessfully **buffed**

**Burner **- A large, more elaborate type of **piece**. The piece could be said to be "burning" out of the wall, billboard, or train-side.

**Buff** - To remove painted graffiti with chemicals and other instruments, or to paint over it with a flat color

**Cannon** - A slang term for spray paint cans

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So? Please review and let me know if I should continue!


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